Hermione's Thoughts
by Moralis
Summary: Why? I keep coming back to that question. Why Ron?


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, etc. I am making no profit by submitting this work of fiction to the internet.

Author's Note: This is a one-shot, and it's also my first time ever writing both romance and angst. Smart of me to put the two together, eh? And I always thought I _wasn't_ the sort to jump off the deep end. Anyway, as I'm sure I've horribly botched this, I'd love some constructive criticism. Now, then, let the story commence.

_Ron. Ron Weasley. Ronald Bilius Weasley._

_Why him? I'm not even sure what to call this. I'm so confused. I'm not supposed to be feeling this way in the first place. There are more important things, now. And him, too, of all people! Hardly the one most would expect. Hermione Granger, bookworm extraordinaire, and Ron Weasley, the slob._

_He isn't really a slob, though, whatever his grades have shown. Ron can do a wonderful job when he puts his mind to it. I remember the giant chess game, back in first year. He was brilliant._

_First year seems like centuries ago, rather than six years. A lot can happen – and has -- in six years, even though in the grand scheme of things it isn't much. Nicholas Flamel would've hardly noticed six years passing by, but it means a lot to those of us who aren't immortal._

_I'm not immortal, and neither is Ron. I'm afraid, so afraid, that we won't survive the next few years. Next few years nothing, now that I think of it. These days, we could just as easily die within the hour as in the next few years._

_I can't let myself think these things; they'll ruin my nerve. I have to be brave. Bravery is vital to us all now. _

_I know most people must think of Harry when they think of bravery, but Ron's braver than he lets on. There's all that about spiders, of course, and he needs a nudge sometimes to get difficult tasks done, but he truly _is_ brave. He comes through when it matters the most, and he does his best. He's risked his life and his health so many times. It wasn't only in the first year chess game, either. In second year, I remember him casting that spell at Malfoy with a broken wand. He went into the Chamber of Secrets as well, and I'm certain that if the way hadn't been blocked he'd have gone with Harry to get Ginny directly. And then there was third year in the Shrieking Shack, fifth year in the Department of Mysteries, just last year in the raid on Hogwarts, and a million things. Of course, a lot of that comes of being so loyal. It seems as though he'd do most anything for his family, for Harry , even for me. I fear what he'll do next. If I lost him_

_I won't think of that. I won't even finish that sentence. I must not lose nerve. Harry and Ron need me to keep my nerve._

_It is 1:47, and I can't sleep. There are a million things on my mind. A million things I don't want on my mind. And one thing – one person – I do want on my mind, but I'm almost scared to let myself think because it seems it always leads to thoughts of worse things._

_Why? I keep coming back to that question. Why Ron? I guess I've answered that question, at least partially, now. He's brave, loyal, and not as much of a slob as he's made out to be. But, surely, surely there's more to it. I can't be up at 1:47 (well, 1:54, now) just because Ron Weasley is brave. I can't have spent so much time over the past few years feeling so confused, and irritated, and absolutely wonderful just because of loyalty. And one would think that a _know-it-all,_ like me, would be shooting for more than someone who isn't quite as much of a slob as he seems._

Hermione stared at the piece of paper on the desk before her and sighed. She didn't expect she'd ever understand, not entirely. That was driving her mad. She hated not understanding, she hated not knowing. Most everything that had troubled her in her life so far had been something that could be solved with a trip to the library. For once, the solution to her problem didn't lie between the pages of some musty old volume. It was just so _infuriating_.

She couldn't stop, though. She was too far in for that now, and this feeling, whatever it was, kept getting stronger, kept getting more torturous, kept getting more necessary to life. It was out of her control by now, if it had ever been in her control to begin with.

It was two in the morning. Hermione yawned and looked at her paper again.

She'd written it because, after a night of tossing and turning, she'd finally decided that it was time to get her muddled thoughts out of her system. It hadn't worked very well. She was still as mixed up as ever.

2:05, the clock was telling her. You are up at 2:05. What are you, moronic?

For the third time, Hermione looked at her piece of paper. This time she snorted: this wasn't very like her. She'd never been the type to keep a diary. People can do unusual things in trying situations, she knew, but anyone who saw this would probably laugh, and Hermione was not at all in the mood to be laughed at.

A thought occurred to her, a sudden, horrifying thought. _Someone _could_ find this!_ She couldn't bear that; something so revealing must never be found. She crumpled the paper up into a tiny ball, tossed it in her trash bin, and then plucked a few tissues up and tossed them on top. Just to be safe.

Hermione sighed, again, irritated with herself. She was overreacting. Anyway, it was rather ridiculous to think this was still a secret. She was certain Harry knew, and probably Ginny as well. She cringed then: Lavender definitely knew.

And Ron. He must be figuring this out by now.

If he hadn't figured it out long ago and had just been stringing her along the whole time, anyway.

It isn't good to think such thoughts when one is all ready in a stressed state of mind, and Hermione knew this. It was difficult not to, though, when she was so tired and frustrated. The sanity of the mind can sometimes seem to be out to commit suicide and leave the person it inhabited to wailing and drooling for the rest of the poor soul's life.

Hermione switched the light off and crawled back into bed. She must sleep. Things were probably only going to get worse in the world, and she must have her health. Her sanity might be lost, but at least she could at least keep her health.


End file.
